


The Christmas Pajama Complex

by breathewords



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas onesies are the most comfy onesies, Department Store Elves, Varchie is there too, and write way too much, bughead - Freeform, i don't understand how prompts work, just some Bughead fluff, with minor Varchie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathewords/pseuds/breathewords
Summary: Betty and Jughead meet working for a department store Santa. Betty loves Christmas onesies. Jughead does not. Or so he says. Quick ficlet for Christmas Eve that was just a lil too long to post on Tumblr.





	The Christmas Pajama Complex

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to our fandom's greatest cheerleader Sarah (theheavycrown) for sending me this prompt:  
> Working as an elf for Santa at the mall (Cupid)  
> Getting locked out of the house in holiday PJ’s (Cupid)!
> 
> Hopefully this being more than just a few lines makes up for my absence in Bughead Secret Santa.

Working as an elf for a department store Santa wasn’t exactly the way Betty envisioned spending her first Christmas in New York City. She thought she’d be hunting down the best hot chocolate in Brooklyn or staring up at the tree at Rockefeller Center or gift shopping in Bryant Park. But as it turns out, rent is expensive and parents are less financially supportive when you turn down the reporting job they’ve handed you on a silver platter, move out of your hometown the day you graduate college, and don’t visit after you do. So department store elf it is.

There is one silver lining. Or, should she say, jet-black lining. Jughead Jones—the photographer freelancing the event and selling overpriced photos of the parents who put their children on a stranger’s lap. He shows up every day with his dark hair tucked into a grey beanie, black leather jacket standing out among the sea of red and green elves, black combat boots scuffing the white mall floor.

At first, she turned her nose up at his lack of holiday spirit. And although they became fast friends, it’s still a point of contention between them. They fight about it nearly every day. Jughead will tell Betty that he doesn’t own a Christmas sweater, or Betty will insist on buying him a peppermint mocha when he asked for black coffee. On the day of Christmas Eve, their fight is over Christmas pajamas.  
Jughead claims he doesn’t own a pair, never has, and onesies are uncomfortable to boot.

“You’re insane,” Betty tells them as they sit in the break room eating lunch. “Onesies are scientifically proven to be the most comfortable pajamas ever made. Add a Christmas theme and their comfort increases exponentially.”

Jughead shakes his head and shoves a handful of fries in his mouth.

“Oh, come on,” Betty persists. “You don’t have any old family photos where your mom forced you and your siblings into matching pajamas with candy canes on them?”

“Nope,” Jughead says, careful to maintain his poker face. He’s not lying. Not exactly. His mom certainly never insisted on a Christmas card, or even family photos. He just doesn’t want Betty to ask any more questions, as much as he may like talking to her.

“Do you have any siblings, by the way?”

“A little sister.”

“How old?”

“She’s about to graduate high school. Five years younger.”

“I have a sister, too. Older.”

“Let me guess. You guys definitely had matching pajamas. You’d wear them every night in December and drink hot chocolate with mini marshmallows and gossip about Santa and his elves.” Jughead gestures at Betty’s elf getup. “And every year, even though you’re grown up and moved out, you get back together for the holidays and put on your matching pajamas and sing a duet of ‘Frosty the Snowman.’ No, ‘Baby it’s Cold Outside.’”

Betty wrinkles her nose. “Wrong. ‘Baby it’s Cold Outside’ is wildly problematic.”

“But other than that?”

“I’ll give you half credit. Polly and I did used to get really excited about Christmas. But I actually haven’t seen her in a few years.” 

“Same with me and my sister,” Jughead admits despite himself.

“Who do you spend the holidays with, then?”

“Sometimes my dad.”

“Sometimes my dad, too. And my mom. Always, actually. But not this year. We kind of had a falling out and… Well, you didn’t ask.”

“That’s quite alright, Betty Cooper. We’ve all got our holiday woes.”

~

They finish their lunch break and don’t speak again until that night when they’re the last two people left sweeping up tinsel and fake snow, everyone else having left to spend Christmas Eve with their family and friends.

“No dad this year?” Betty asks hesitantly, trying to break the blanket of silence they’ve been working under.

“Nope, just me. What about you? Any fancy friends in the city?”

“No. I moved pretty recently, so I haven’t really met a ton of people yet.”

Jughead sighs as he dumps the last of his pile of various sparkling debris into the trashcan, putting on an air of superiority that has Betty laughing before he even speaks.

“Alright, Cooper. Your sad tale of loneliness on Christmas Eve has thawed even my icy heart. I happen to have a couple of friends who are having a party. You’re coming with. But we’re gonna have to get changed first.”

Betty agrees easily—she’s not in a position to turn her nose up at any invites, despite her mother’s voice in her head telling her it’s not polite to intrude—and follows Jughead onto the subway and then through the streets of Greenwich Village where they apparently both live.

“This is my place,” Betty says, grabbing Jughead’s arm to stop him from walking ahead of her.

“Noted,” he says.

“Didn’t you say I needed to change?”

“Yeah, but I want the theme to be a surprise. You can borrow something.”

“Theme? Oh, god.”

Jughead just smirks and drags Betty a few more blocks to his building. Inside, she shucks her coat and snoops in his kitchen while he goes to his room to change. She’s just opening a box of Swiss Miss hot chocolate she found buried in the back of his cabinets when he makes his reappearance her her jaw hits the ground.

He’s wearing Christmas pajamas. No, a Christmas onesie, complete with images of Santa and each of the reindeer and the crowning jewel of the whole thing, strings of tiny lights that actually turn on when he flips a switch on a battery pack.

“Tada,” he says.

“You liar! You said you didn’t have Christmas pajamas!”

“I said I didn’t own them. Technically, these aren’t mine. They’re Archie’s. He and his fiancé Veronica are the ones who are hosting the party—the pajama party.”

“Well thank god they’re not yours,” she jokes. “They look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, not as ridiculous as the other pair he gave me to try.”

“I’d love to see that pair, then. I can’t imagine how it can get any worse.”

Jughead can’t bite back his smirk when he says, “Those are the one’s you’ll be borrowing.”

After much complaining about how they won’t fit her and how her apartment is just a few blocks away and how she doesn’t know Archie so she can’t wear his pajamas, Jughead persuades her to wear the onesie that turns her into a literal Christmas tree. The garment is complete with triangles of fabric sticking out at the sides to imitate the shape of a tree and a hood adorned with a golden star. It completely swaps her, so she ends up just wearing the tank top she wore under her elf costume at work and tying the arms of the onesie around her waist.

In return, Jughead allows her to make them one cup of hot chocolate—slightly enhanced—“the right way.”

She uses milk not water and heats it over the stove, not in the microwave. Jughead would never admit it, but it really does taste better her way.

They make their way to Veronica and Archie’s apartment on the Upper East Side, where Jughead is surprised at Betty’s social aptitude. She’s much more graceful with strangers than he is. Granted that’s not saying much, but she bonds with Archie in particular like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Really, all it takes to woo Archie into friendship is one good game of beer pong. And thankfully for Betty, despite all of Veronica Lodge’s harsh edges, she’s not a sore loser and just drags Jughead off for green and red Jell-O shots if only because she knows he hates the things.

“So, you and Jughead?” Archie asks Betty as they reset the cups on the table.

“We work together,” Betty says automatically.

“Yeah, I know. He talks about you. Like, a lot.”

“Well, most of the other elves are kind of buzzkills. They’ll never make it to the North Pole.”

“Jughead doesn’t talk about girls.” Betty’s joke seems to go over Archie’s head. Or maybe he’s just being kind in not calling her out for how bad it was.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“I’ve known him since we were little kids. Trust me, it is.”

Betty blushes and begs out of the conversation by claiming she needs a refill. She really doesn’t—she’s probably had too much to drink as it is—but once she’s at the punch bowl she fills her cup anyway. When she turns around Archie, Jughead, and Veronica are nowhere to be seen. She feels a little abandoned, but turns on her signature Cooper smile and makes small talk with some of the other guests as she sways to the Christmas music.

It’s not until “Drummer Boy” comes on that she really starts to miss her family. She’s thankful to Jughead for dragging her out, for surrounding her with people so she doesn’t have to be alone, but when she hears her mother’s favorite song while she’s steadily consuming her fourth—fifth?—glass of eggnog, she gets a little emotional.

She sees her family decorating the tree, Alice smiling through the instructions she barks about where the ornaments should hang. She sees Polly decorating sugar cookies and Hal dressed as Santa as the sweet smell of batter wafts from the still-steaming pizzelle iron. 

Oh, god, she thinks as her vision blurs. She makes her way out the door before she does something stupid like cry. She just needs some fresh air.

It’s freezing outside, so she zips up her (Archie’s) onesie to its full glory as she sinks down onto the front steps. She’s blushing, but her cheeks are tinged red from the cold anyway. She stares at the brightest building she can find and refuses to blink, to cry over something so stupid. This was her decision. Her decision to cut ties with her family, at least for this year. And despite the overwhelming feeling of emptiness in her chest, she knows it was the right one. But that doesn’t make her feel any less… abandoned.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed before she feels someone sit down next to her. Jughead. She knows it’s him immediately. Despite the fact that he’s not wearing any, he still smells like leather.

“You ditched the party,” he says, trying for levity.

“I’m sorry, Jug. It was so nice of you to invite me tonight. I just… can’t keep it together. Never can. But it’s not your problem.”

“Betty, I know we don’t know each other that well. And I know I’ve made it clear that, uh, I don’t want to hear my coworkers ramble on about their problems this holiday season. And I know we haven’t hung out outside of work that much, but I really do see you as more than a coworker. I think I’d like you even without the elf getup.”

“That’s nice, Jug, but you don’t have to stay out here with me. Go back up to your friends.”

“Is that really what you want?”

She finally makes eye contact with him, and when she does, she thinks she catches a spark of something. Something like… desire? She thinks of what Archie said, of the way Jughead doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone else but her at work, of the way his banter sometimes crosses the line into flirting, of what he said to her just seconds ago. But it’s Christmas Eve and he has an apartment of friends to spend it with. It’s not right of her to take him away from that, feelings or not.

“Yeah,” she tells him.

She hears his footfalls as he climbs the steps, then the sound of him pushing on the door. And pushing on it again. And banging on it. “Damnit,” he mumbles. He apparently decides to try the intercom, because she hears him say, “Archie, let me in.”

“No can do, Juggie.”

“Yeah,” Veronica’s voice chimes in. “No way we’re letting you leave sweet Betty out there on her own.”

She turns around and cranes her neck as far back as it’ll go. Sure enough, she sees Archie and Veronica peering down from the window above her. On the street, despite the late hour and the fact that it’s Christmas Eve and below freezing, people continue to bustle by. Life goes on, she thinks. Stop wallowing.

“People are looking at us weird,” Jughead tries. “We’re wearing Christmas pajamas!”

Behind him, Betty pushes herself to her feet and starts to climb the steps. Before she makes it to the door where Jughead is rhythmically pressing the buzzer, snowflakes start to dust the streets of New York.

“I’ll have you know I love Christmas pajamas,” she says, reaching out and taking his hand off the buzzer.

Once he’s no longer pressing she tries to pull away, but he catches her wrist before she has the chance.

She looks down at her feet. Their toes are practically touching, feet rapidly freezing in the thickening snow. When she looks up, her nose skims his.

She catches a glimpse of that thing in his eyes again, the twinkle that reminds her of Saint Nick in one of the books her mother used to read to her and Polly when they were kids, but this one isn’t so innocent. God, his eyelashes are thick, she thinks. They’re collecting snow. Then, before she can think anything else, she leans in.

He meets her halfway, and when his lips find hers, she’s not so cold anymore.

“I think,” he says, smiling against her lips, “I like them too.”

“Fuck yeah!” Archie shouts from above.

“Don’t scream ‘fuck’ out the window on Christmas, babe,” Veronica suggests.

“It’s Christmas Eve, not Christmas.”

“It’s midnight. Therefore it’s officially Christmas.”

Their voices trail off, and Betty and Jughead are left alone on the stoop.

“Merry Christmas, Jug,” she says.

“Merry Christmas, Betts.”

“I’m freezing,” she says, tucking herself against him as they turn to open the door.

“Shit. We’re still locked out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Do I ever write a story that doesn’t include beer pong? It’s my touchstone and my swan song to college this semester. Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!


End file.
